


Powers That Be

by Silverheart



Series: Bats and Birds [16]
Category: Batman: Arkham (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Family, Fluff, Gen, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-17 11:47:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4665411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silverheart/pseuds/Silverheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin and Red Hood work together for the first time to take down someone dealing extremely advanced weapons in Gotham.</p><p>Meanwhile, Bruce Wayne's will has finally been found, and a businessman from out of town is disappointed in the contents.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Lunatic,” Tim muttered, bounding after Jason—Red Hood, as he called himself on the streets.

“What’s going on?” Oracle asked in his ear.

“Just following our new buddy to a lead.”

“Play nice.”

He rolled his eyes and skidded to a halt as Red Hood signaled him to stop. He nodded after a moment and Tim leapt to his side.

“Quite an operation here,” Jason whispered as they surveyed the scene below.

A pack of goons— Two-Face’s men, by the look of it—was unloading crates from trucks and prepping them for shipment.

“Gunrunning, again?” Tim asked. Did crooks only ever try to destroy the city or smuggle arms out of it? He really shouldn’t complain about fighting the devil he knew, but it got boring.

“No,” Jason said, tapping something on the side of his helmet, “Not weapons. Whatever’s in those crate is stored in canisters. Oracle, let’s see if you’re as good as you used to say.”

“Better, thanks, but go ahead.”

“Any major thefts at a chemical plant or anything recently?”

“No. Been pretty quiet. This operation is the most we’ve seen outside of muggings since…since things got back to normal.”

Jason grunted. “I don’t like this. Big Harv doesn’t do things that don’t involve cold hard cash.”

“True enough. So whatever he’s shipping must be worth something to someone.”

“Don’t doubt it. Listen, replacement, there’s all sorts of nasty stuff in the world that Gotham hasn’t had to taste yet. Things that make Scarecrow’s fear toxin look cute. Don’t break those canisters. Hell, just stay away from the crates.”

Tim looked from Red Hood back to the crates. A chemical weapon? Two-Face had moved all kinds of contraband, but not that one. “Noted.”

“Okay, then, so here’s my plan: we shut this operation down.” He locked his dual pistols into their sniper rifle configuration. “By which I mean every crook here dies. Don’t give me that look.”

“I’m not arguing…that.” He found himself surprisingly apathetic. Had he become so hard-hearted overnight? He felt like a traitor, somehow, as if not caring was a disgrace to Bruce’s memory. “But we don’t know where Two-face is, or what exactly he’s up to. If you kill all of them, we won’t be any closer to stopping whatever he’s got planned.”

Jason brooded in Tim’s general direction. That was what it looked like, anyway. It was hard to tell with the mask. “Fair point,” he grumbled, “But if they walk into my sights, they’re dead.”

It wasn’t like he could stop him from pulling the trigger. “Okay.” Tim surveyed the area again. It was, for Harvey Dent, a pretty bare bones operation. Ten thugs that he could see, four of them preoccupied with gently offloading crates from a van. The driver was taking a smoke at the warehouse’s designated smoking area—weird priorities, there. Three were on lookout, all armed, and the last two were trying to open a shipping container with a very fancy lock.

It looked like they were trying to go by instructions on a piece of paper. Trying being the operative word. One shouted at the other and snatched the paper from him, holding it up so he could see it better and frowning.

When they’d cleared the area, Tim was going to have to get a better look at that container. There were some stupid thugs in Gotham, but having trouble like that was different than the usual idiocy. “The ones at the container are the ones who might know something.”

“We’ll be lucky if they know the fucking alphabet.” Jason sighed. “I’ll start on the lookouts at your signal.”

Tim looked at the men in question. Dead men, not that they knew it. “I’ll knock out the smoking loner. We’ll have to see what the loaders do after they hear your shots, since we don’t want the crates damaged.”

“They and the two geniuses over there will probably want a brawl.” Jason rotated his neck and rolled his shoulders. “No snapped necks, I guess, since you want to chat with them.”

Something in his tone put Tim on the defensive. He could do interrogations, and well, thank you. “Thanks for the concession.”

“Big word, there, replacement.” He checked his rifle and pulled out his grapple gun. “I’ll get into position. When you knock the loner out, that’ll be my signal. Do a decent job. I don’t want to have to save your ass.”

Tim didn’t respond to that with so much as an eye roll. He grappled to a burnt out streetlight above his target.

Bruce would have done his inverted takedown, but Tim had long ago given up trying that trick. He wasn’t a fan of upside down and for some reason his coordination went to hell when trying it. He’d have to do this his way.

He watched as the man took another long drag of his cigarette, staring at nothing. Two of the loaders burst into an argument about who had to walk backwards this time. The sentries weren’t even glancing this way.

Tim leapt downward into a gliding kick. He hit the guy hard, landing with his legs on either side of the thug’s prone body. Before the man could even realize what was going on, Tim had him in a sleeper hold. He was out before he gave a shout, surprised enough not to struggle too hard. Tim dragged the prone body into the shadows as the first shot fired.

It almost made him jump. He wasn’t used to that single shattering sound being friendly.

The thugs shouted, scrambling for cover. Another shot rang out. Tim heard the body hit the ground this time. The wet heavy thump seemed impossibly amplified.

“Bastards,” Jason murmured over the communicator, “Robin, I’m going to need you to flush them out. I’d rather not expose myself to submachine gun fire while getting a good angle.”

Tim hesitated. “Kneecaps.”

“Squeamish now?”

The mockery in his tone set Tim’s teeth on edge. “Think of it as my way of honoring the dead.”

“It’s not, though. It’s just perpetuating the cycle.”

“Come on. Do you want to be here all night?”

The loaders had abandoned the crates, prompting the now-hiding leaders to yell at them for leaving the potentially lethal cargo exposed.

“It’s not like I have any other plans. Listen, you give me a logical reason not to kill them, and I won’t.”

“Because reason and logic are what drive _you_ ,” Tim bit out.

“Guys!” Oracle came onto the channel loud enough that Tim swore his eardrums burst. “Focus,” she went on at a normal volume, “Get the thugs with guns out of the fight. Figure out what Two-Face is up to.”

“Right,” Tim said, zipping up the roofline, “I got this. On my terms.”

“I want you to know ammunition isn’t easy to buy for the legally dead. And I really don’t want to save your ass.”

“You won’t have to.” Tim crept along the roofline until he saw one of the gunmen. He threw a smoke bomb and dropped down as the man fired into the air, whirling in fear in every direction but the one Tim came from.

He leapt forward, pinning the man’s throat between his shoulder and the rifle. His prey kicked and struggled for a minute, then sagged. Tim dropped him and ducked behind a concrete barrier to evaluate his next move.

Another sniper shot fired. “Thank you,” Jason said, sounding satisfied.

The thugs had huddled up behind a shipping crate, out of Red Hood’s line of sight. “Do you think…” one said, “Do you think it’s Batman?”

“Batman don’t use guns. And besides, he got blown up.”

“Will you two shut up? We can’t risk the goods gettin’ hit. It’ll kill us, and if it don’t, the boss will.”

“Yeah? Well, then, you go move ‘em.”

“Ain’t my job, smartass. You’re the stupid muscle who picks things up and puts them down. I’m the one in charge.”

Tim tensed, ready to move. But Jason beat him to the punch.

Literally.

Jason stepped over the man he’d knocked cold. He chuckled and cracked his knuckles as the men backed away, clearly confused. “So you’re the one I beat into the ground for some answers, then?”

The self-identified guy in charge bolted…and skidded to a halt as he came face-to-face with Tim. “That is what you meant by ‘in charge’, right?” he asked.

“Robin,” the thug leader said. He swallowed once and put up his fists. “Yeah, well, you’re nothing without the big _dead_ Batman to help you out.”

Tim pulled out his staff. “Right. Let’s test that theory out. Hey, Red Hood, coming your way!” He extended the staff, feinted left, then came around in a vicious swing from the right, sending the scumbag flying belly-first into the hammer of Jason’s kick. He stumbled and fell, clutching his stomach.

The other men finally worked enough courage to leap into the fray. Tim flicked between them, slamming one into the crate, putting an elbow through another’s face. It was far, far from the biggest or toughest fight he’d ever seen. In a matter of minutes, Robin and Red Hood stood in the midst of groaning and unconscious thugs.

Jason groaned and gripped his own shoulder, pushing it backwards hard and getting a very painful sound in return. “Son of a bitch, that’s going to hurt tomorrow.”

“Out of practice?” Tim asked, walking towards the leader. Tim had smacked him back down after he recovered from the initial strike, but he was mostly awake.

“No,” Jason said, “Just…damage. Things don’t take use as well as they should.”

“Oh.” The torture was one of the many subjects they all talked around, like Bruce’s death. And just like that, it loomed over them, sometimes. “You want to do the honors?”

“Go ahead.” He sat down on a block of concrete and began fiddling with one of his pistols.

Tim hauled the leader up against the shipping container. “What are you moving?”

He had to give the guy credit. He attempted to spit in Robin’s face, though his lack of saliva meant he just made a ridiculous face. “Not telling you nothin’.”

“Useful double negative.” Tim threw him down, pressed one knee onto his back and began pulling one arm back. “The thing about this sort of hold is that you’ll feel your arm start to break.”

“And,” Red Hood added from where he sat, “you have two arms. Legs, too. Ribs…lots of ribs.”

“So talk,” Tim added.

The thug began to curse a blue streak, voice shaky. Tim didn’t let go. “It’s a mutagen nerve gas. New stuff. Kill us all if the cans crack…”

“Where’s it going?”

“I don’t know.” Tim pulled. “I’m tellin’ ya, I don’t know! It’s a dead drop!”

“Dangerous sort of dead drop.”

“Boss’ new partner wants it all kept quiet! He’s some kind of rich billionaire!”

“That would be the only kind I know, myself,” Jason commented.

“A name?” The thug wheezed and shook his head. Tim just kept the pressure up. “Come on, you know about his money, but no name?”

“I swear! I swear!”

Tim dropped the arm and laid the man out with a kick. “Well, that’s something, at least.”

“Where do the big bad psychos keep finding these idiots?” Jason asked, standing, “They’ve gone downhill in quality, too. Used to be that it took more than the threat of a broken arm.”

Or that Jason simply went further than that as a matter of course, but Tim knew was not the time. He headed over to the locked crate, examining the lock.

He hadn’t seen anything like it before. There were just blank buttons and some kind of scanner, but nothing to hint at an opening sequence. He didn’t touch any of it. If it was a dead drop for a delivery of nerve gas, he didn’t like to think of what might be inside, or what the security systems might be like.

He took a scan of it, then flicked through the info on his gauntlet readout. A lot of statistics, but nothing immediately matching up in the Batcomputer’s database. He activated his visual communications link. It was always a relief to see Barb’s face. “Oracle, I’m sending you a scan of locking mechanism on this container. The goons told us it was a dead drop for nerve gas.”

She blinked rapidly. “That’s not normal.” She looked down. “Okay, got it. I’ll see if it matches any recorded patents. Can you get a scan of what they were moving?”

Tim glanced at the crates. Nerve gas. They’d faced off with it before—the Joker’s Laughing Gas was a form of it, debilitating to lethal depending on its grade—but that didn’t make it less unnerving. “I’ll see if I can.”

She nodded and the visual cut out.

Jason finished a circuit of the container. “No markings. Can’t see anything inside it with my sensors.”

“I don’t think we want to break it open, with a lock like that.”

“Or cargo like this.” He approached the crates and gently pried one open. “Unless you want to haul one back, I don’t think you can get a sample out of these.”

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen.” He was not taking nerve gas into the clock tower. “You’ve been around people who deal in this sort of stuff. Anything familiar?”

“Eh.” Jason gently pulled a canister up. “Heavier than it looks.” He turned it around. “No markings, which is weird. Most of the time people want labels on the stuff so they know what they’re dealing with in a general sort of way.”

Tim checked another canister and saw the same thing. “No obvious leads, then.”

Jason shrugged and activated his own gauntlet comm. “Oracle, can you get the GCPD down here to pick this stuff up?”

“Already sent up a report.”

“You know, if your dad finds out you’re still in the game, he’ll ground you forever.”

Barbara’s answer was very irritated. “I’m not thirteen anymore, Red Hood.”

He laughed and dropped the call. “I’ll make sure these stay secure until they’re off the street. You get back to your patrol.”

Tim nodded and turned to go, but stopped. “Are you going to shoot them?” he gestured to the passed-out thugs.

“Haven’t made up my mind.”

“Don’t.”

“You actually care?”

“The reason you’re not dead is because he didn’t kill you when you helped Scarecrow.”

Jason touched his helmet, at where the brand on his cheek was. His voice took on a shivering, violent edge. “And the reason I have this is because he didn’t kill the Joker when the bastard did evil things. Do you really believe it? That the lives of scum have any value?”

Tim stared at him for a minute. Then it hit him. “Yeah,” he said, shocked, “I guess I do.”

Jason was surprised enough to take a step back. “Why?”

“Because what gives us the authority to decide that they don’t?” Tim didn’t wait for an answer, but shot a grappling hook to the nearest roof.

Let Jason chew on that one. Maybe it might save a few lives tonight.

 

* * *

 

He didn’t think he’d be able to stop Red Hood’s quick draw in any other way.

She knew Tim was coming before he dropped through the trap door. They’d all worked on designing and installing a very good security system on the clock tower. No one got in without Barb’s awareness and permission.

One of those Bat commandments they lived by: never make the same mistake twice.

She didn’t look up as he hit the floor. She kept typing as he dropped his hooded head to her shoulder and slid his arms around her waist. He had to be on his knees—that gave her pause. She turned her head to nuzzle into the hood. It smelled like sweat and Tim.

The search query she’d started earlier dinged. She lifted her head from his and clicked it open. “I’ve got some info on that lock finally.”

He stood, slowly releasing his hold on her, and tossing his green hood back. “Any hint on the manufacture?”

She sped-read the info as she scrolled through it. “Not anything very useful. Something like it is made by a company called Fuerza out of Argentina. Not much about it…not much to it, from the look of things. Their only holdings are a manufacturing factory in Buenos Ares. Metal tooling, mostly. They make something like that lock, though it looks like the design has been upgraded here. It’s not used much; too hard for someone to get into when they’re supposed to.”

“Maybe it’s an aftermarket purchase.”

“It’s mostly used for time capsules, you know, silly academic projects. Oh, Jason sent a message. The cops sent a hazmat team to secure the area and pick up the canisters.” She glanced away from her screen. “And he said to tell you that he didn’t shoot anyone else. The cops took them away. The ones that were alive, anyway.”

Tim rubbed his temples. “Working with him is going to take some getting used to.”

“You said we didn’t have a choice.”

“And I believe it.”

She nodded. She did, too. “It’ll help him, too, and he deserves that much, Tim. He’s been through so much. He needs us.”

“It’s one thing to know that, it’s another thing to see the dead bodies.” He leaned over the console and scrolled through the information about Fuerza. “Guess we’ll have to keep an eye on this, see how it develops. I hate doing that.”

“I’ll approach it from the Dent angle, see if any of his aliases, fronts, and associates have been acting up.” She gritted her teeth and shook her head. “I want to know who instigated that round of super villain jail breaks and pardons in the past few months. Things were getting calm.”

“It’s not going to do your dad’s campaign any favors.”

She shrugged. “You’re going to start thinking I’m heartless for this, but he’s going to have to deal it with that way on his own. I think he can, but we’re not fighting for anyone’s politics. Even if he should win.”

Tim chuckled. “I wouldn’t have gone out if we started doing that. It wouldn’t be right.” He stretched, the plates of his body armor clicking and straining quietly. “It’s almost sunrise and I have a class at noon to sleep through, Barb. Unless you’ve got something else…”

“Just something from the 24-hour new cycle.” She pulled up the browser tab she’d been sitting on. “They found Bruce’s will.”

Tim stared at the blazing headline, with its picture of Bruce at an event. It had obviously been after a long night that hadn’t ended as well as he’d hoped; he had that grumpy look on his face. “That was the Gotham Daughters of the Founders’ gala, two years ago,” Tim said distantly, “I got dragged to that one, though I spent half the time trying to figure out where Firefly would hit next. We’d spent the last few days trying to run him to ground.” He grinned. “Of course, his next target was that building later that night, because we’re good at timing.”

It occurred to Barb that she’d never seen Tim in a tux. Her dad hated fancy events. He still did, though the campaign had forced him to get used to the idea. Barb opted to stay out of the limelight and his campaign managers agreed. Her wheelchair brought up the injury, which brought up the Joker, which brought up Batman, which was a minefield.

However, with all that in mind, she would like to see her cage fighter genius superhero in a tux. One of these days. ”Well, you’re going to want to check your messages when you get back home. Lucius found it on his computer earlier tonight. He arranged a reading for tomorrow, in Bruce’s office. I’m sure the adopted sons of Bruce Wayne will be invited.”

“Quick as only the Fox can be.” Tim took off his mask and rubbed at his eyes. “I kept hoping it wouldn’t turn up, you know. That he’d just show up in his office one day being the least interesting billionaire in the world and things would go back to normal.”

Barb blinked back a teary smile at the idea. “Jason thinks he’s alive, you know.”

“Jason also finds slow-motion headshot videos to be prime time entertainment.” Tim put the mask back on. “Tomorrow Dick and I will be attending the reading of Bruce’s will. The only proof we have says that Bruce is just…dust. Alright, well, have a good night. I’m sure the reading is going to be way more exciting than it should be.”

Barb reached up and pulled him by the cape down to her level so she could kiss him. It lasted a lot longer than she’d meant, and ended up with Tim half tipping her chair backwards. “Have a good night, bird-boy,” she whispered as he pulled away sheepishly.

“Yeah.” He snatched a much quicker kiss before shooting his grappling hook up the roof passageway. “Thanks for all the good dreams, Barb, as always.”


	2. Chapter 2

“I never liked this building,” Dick said, pacing the lobby, “Like the top of an iceberg people mistake for being the entire thing, when it’s nowhere even close.”

Tim pulled at the tie at his throat. After years in his Robin suit, you’d think a tie wouldn’t feel so restrictive. It was purely psychological. “That’s an overused metaphor.”

“Sorry. Business attire cuts off circulation to my brain.”

Tim laughed quietly. “Right. Because it’s much tighter than what you usually wear.” 

Dick threw him a look, stopped pacing, and sat down in the chair next to Tim. Because he was fundamentally incapable being still, one leg bounced up and down spastically. It was a very small crowd, the two of them in this corner, a middle-aged businessman and an even older lady, a nun, on the other. 

The doors to Bruce’s old office opened gently and Lucius walked out. “Welcome, lady and gentlemen.” Tim and Dick stood. The old Fox grinned at them. “Boys, it’s been too long.”

Dick returned the grin and gripped the old man’s offered arm—a gesture tougher, stronger than handshake. He’d been an ally in need, a dear friend, and in on their secrets. A handshake wouldn’t do. “It has. I haven’t seen you since…” Dick trailed off.

“The funeral, yes.” He and Tim exchanged the same forearm grip. “Tim, I hope you’ve recovering well?”

“Getting by.”

Lucius adjusted his glasses. “Yes, well, let me know if I can help. It was always a pleasure working for the late Mr. Wayne, and it would be an honor to help out his sons.”

Tim saw that for what it was and nodded gratefully. “Thanks. After everything…thanks.”

“My pleasure. Here let me introduce you to our other guests.” He led them to the other two. The old woman, the nun, hobbled over with her cane. “Sister Joan, these are Mr. Wayne’s sons, Richard Grayson and Timothy Drake.”

She smiled benignly at them and shook each of their hands. Her grip reminded Tim of an old tree, gnarled but tough and lively. “You have my condolences. Mr. Wayne was a long-time supporter of our work in Gotham. A wonderful young man, with a brave and generous heart—even more so than anyone knew.”

Lucius nodded. “Sister Joan is a member of the Little Sisters of Mercy. Their organization runs several hospitals and shelters in the city.”

“And what valuable work they do,” oozed the business man, sliding over. Tim disliked him immediately. “I do intend to keep funding your order, of course, Sister.”

She rested on her cane. “God will provide us enough to continue serving Him, Mr. Powers,” she said sagely. 

“This is Derek Powers, CEO of Powers Technology,” Lucius said, “He has been a long-time associate of the company.”

Dick raised an eyebrow. “On the shortlist then?”

Powers hesitated as he shook Dick’s hand. “Oh, I’m sure Mr. Wayne would have wanted me here. Our families go quite far back.”

Tim shook Powers’ hand. The man was as old as Bruce, though he already had a fully gray head of hair. He was in good shape, though. His suit looked expensive and stylish. 

“Follow me, please,” Lucius said, opening the office doors. Tim steeled himself as he followed all the others through.

Bruce’s office was as he remembered it, elegant and uncluttered. A book shelf dominated one wall, and old portraits of his family hung on either side of the door.

Tim paused at one corner, where a pair of armchairs flanked an unfinished chess game. He stared at the board. “You okay?” Dick asked.

“He would have beat me,” Tim said, “He always did.”

“Come on,” Dick said, gesturing to the small set of folding chairs in front of the desk. Tim swallowed and nodded, following him. The computer screen was turned to face them.

Lucius walked around. “I haven’t watched the video myself, of course, but the will exists in document format as well. It is binding.” A small USB port extended out of one of Lucius’ fingers.

“That still freaks me out,” Dick muttered.

“I make good use of all opportunities, Mr. Grayson,” Lucius said, connected the USB to the computer, “Never let a tragedy floor you for very long. A mutual friend of ours taught you that, I hope?”

Dick smiled. “Yeah, he did.”

The screen flicked to life, and Lucius killed the lights. 

Bruce sat at his office desk. His expression wasn’t the genial photogenic smile of his public appearances. It was the stoic, statuesque look that Tim and Dick knew so well, Bruce as he really was, his smiles small and quick, his pain expressed only in the tightening of his eyes. 

“Welcome,” Bruce said, brows furrowing briefly. Even he didn’t know what to say, sometimes. “I created this will and testament as a precautionary measure. This will be brief. Thank you, Lucius, for agreeing to be my executor in this matter.

“First, all of the Wayne Estate’s holdings within Gotham itself are to go the Little Sisters of Mercy. Sister, I trust that your organization will continue to work towards making Gotham a better place.

“Second, Wayne Manor falls to Alfred Pennyworth.” Tim curled a hand around one of his chair’s supports in a white-knuckled grip. “He’s tended to it for longer than I’ve been alive, and me with it. I can’t imagine it without him. He will always have my gratitude in ways I can’t possibly express.”

“Third….the rest of my effects, accounts, and holdings, such as that remain, are to be split fifty-fifty between my adopted sons Richard Grayson and Tim Drake.” He gave a wry little smile. “It’s a bit more than your usual stipend. Don’t spend it all at once.” 

He paused then, and the mask slipped, if you knew what to look for. “Boys...my life is dangerous, and that’s been my choice. Being a part of it wasn’t a choice you had to make. There have been times when I wish you hadn’t made it. I’m grateful, though, that you did. It’s been an honor to have been a part of your lives. I’m proud of you.”

Tim blinked rapidly. He felt the wetness gathering heavy on his eyelashes.

It had been months. It had gotten easier, in that you had to live while you were alive, but the wound would always be there. It stung, badly, when the right things prodded it just so. 

Bruce’s stoicism was back in place as quickly as it had gone. “Please give all my love to our extended family. These words are the last will and testament of Bruce Wayne, in every way legal and binding.” 

And the screen faded to black. 

Lucius waited a minute before turning the lights back on, giving everyone a chance to get a hold on their emotions. 

Those who had them, anyway.

Powers stood quickly, his fists clenched. “Nothing. Not even a mention.”

“Well, Mr. Powers,” Lucius said, “You weren’t on his list of invitees.” He turned to the others as Powers marched out, dramatically throwing the office doors open. “Sister, I will start making the arrangements to transfer the Wayne Holdings in Gotham proper to your order right away.”

Sister Joan gracefully dabbed her wrinkled cheeks with a handkerchief. “Thank you kindly, Mr. Fox. I must go tell the Mother Superior of this turn of events. Please, if you could send us a listing of the property?”

“As good as done.”

The old woman smiled and began to hobble her way out, pausing only to touch the young men’s shoulders. “He loved you very much,” she said, “He, and you, have my prayers.”

That left Tim and Dick alone with Lucius, at last. “So,” Tim started, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He ran his hands through his buzzed hair. He couldn’t think of anything to say.

“We should have expected it,” Dick said. He was studying the ceiling, arms behind his head. “Though to be honest it didn’t cross my mind. It just wasn’t the important part.”

“There is the issue of Wayne Manor,” Lucius said, “Since Mr. Pennyworth—“

“Please don’t,” Tim said, “You were holding onto this, weren’t you?”

The old Fox nodded. “For some time. I wanted to refrain from sharing it until the investigation closed and the media firestorm had died down.”

“It’s going to start picking up again,” Dick said, groaning, “Paparazzi outside my place…Zatanna is going to kill me.” He shook his head and grinned. “The good old Batman, still making my life hard from the grave.”

Tim kicked at his shin, didn’t connect, and looked back to Lucius. “The Manor is gone, but there’s still the real estate, right?”

“That’s correct. It’s quite a lot of land, technically just outside city limits. The lawyers will be hemming and hawing over that one for some time, but I imagine they’ll opt to split it between you, like most of his assets. I don’t imagine either you will contest that?”

“Only because of one thing,” Dick said, “It should stay in one piece. It’s the Wayne Estate, not the ‘Grayson plot’ and the ‘Drake plot’.”

Lucius considered. “I’ll see what we can do. It will fall to one of you, however. Or at least it probably will.”

“No one has any reason to contest it that I can think of. Right, well, I’ve got to get back to Blüdhaven. It’s date night, and like I said, I’m about to give my sorceress enough reason to kill me.” Tim stood and shook Lucius’ hand. “Thanks Lucius. Let me know what you need. It’s not a long drive to Gotham.” He slapped Tim on the shoulder. “You, too, Robin. Keep me posted on how things are going…and take care of Barb. And Jason.”

“You’ve got it.”

Tim got up to follow him, but stopped before giving his goodbyes to Lucius. “Hey, what was Powers doing here anyway, if he wasn’t on the invite list?”

“Ah, yes, that. His company, Powers Tech, was considering a merger with Wayne Enterprises. Or being considered for a merger, rather. He was hoping Mr. Wayne would have said something to push the process forward, as he was majority stockholder, and in the interests of diplomacy I allowed him to be here. I knew that there would be nothing compromising, so to speak. The Powers and the Waynes have been social equals for several generations, and they played a key role in this company before…well, the less said about that the better.”

That pricked Tim’s ears. “No, let’s say more about that.”

“When he was much younger, when Mr. Wayne had left Gotham, Derek Powers got mixed up in the organized crime racket. R and D for criminals, as it were. The details aren’t clear. His family managed to keep him from being charged, but he spent several years living in South America and Europe. The affair dragged the family down anyway, though, and they’ve been all but wiped from city history. Mr. Powers hadn’t returned to Gotham until recently, when serious negotiations began about the merger.”

“Huh.” Tim nodded, filing the whole history away. He shook Lucius’ hand. “Thanks, Mr. Fox. For everything.”

“It was the right thing to do, Mr. Drake, even on the darkest of nights. I’ll be in touch about the arrangements. Please say hello to Mrs. Gordon for me.”

“Will do.” Tim left with a last look at Bruce’s old office. They’d probably have to clear it out soon, but for today…today, it was as if he were still around.


	3. Chapter 3

When Tim arrived at the clock tower— through the front door, for the record—he found himself face-to-barrel with one of Jason’s pistols.

He was pretty sure that it hadn’t been out of the holster when he’d opened the door. Quick draw, no kidding.

“Yeah, good evening to you, too,” Tim said, for lack of any better response.

Jason, his face bared and his pseudonymous red hood pushed back, sneered from where he lounged backwards on a chair in front of the door. He shoved his weapon back into the holster. “Going get yourself killed, not checking doors before you walk through them.”

“I haven’t really had any issues at my girlfriend’s place,” Tim said, sliding past. That got a brief, very ugly look. Jason and Dick were basically Barb’s big brothers, right. “Maybe you should try dating different kinds of women.”

The older man shrugged. “So what did the old man leave you?” he asked, trying to seem casual. Tim saw through it—a six-year old would have seen through it. Jason’s emotional control was shot.

He really needed to be more generous to the guy.

“He split his assets between Dick and me,” Tim said. He heard Barb in the kitchen. “He left all his holdings in the city proper to an order of nuns who do charity work.”

“Little Sisters of Mercy.” Jason nodded in approval. “Good choice. Good people.”

He’d know, Tim supposed; Barb had mentioned Jason was living on the streets, off charity. Homeless violent superhero with a faceless mask. He’d read that comic book, once. It didn’t have a happy ending. “He left the manor to Alfred.”

Jason was quiet a long time. Barb went silent, as well. “That’s a good choice, too.”

Tim traced the covers of a book on the bookshelf in the living room. “Would be.”

“Where does that leave things there, then?” Barb asked, rolling into the room, “Since…since he’s gone, too.” A tray full of grilled cheese sandwiches sat on her lap. Jason promptly relived her of it. “Share that,” she ordered absently, “The manor’s gone, but that’s still a lot of land. I’m not sure any of us ever explored everything on the estate.”

“Pretty sure Bruce knew every last blade of grass on it, though,” Tim mused. He was a thousand miles away, today. Wills must have the effect on people.

Jason laughed through a mouthful of sandwich. “Yeah, and not a single one moved without his permission.” He swallowed and looked…boyish? Poor Jason. “These are really good.”

“That’s because you need to get an apartment with a kitchen and normal food,” Barb told him, “And share those.” With a roll of green eyes, Jason held the tray in Tim’s general direction, complete with a genuinely scary territorial look.

And ‘Poor Jason’ was the phrase that had just crossed his mind, too.

Tim waved him off. He’d snagged some doner after his workout earlier. “Anyway,” he said, “there was a guy there, Derek Powers. He was the slimy sort of rich guy.”

“Not the sort of person Bruce would give a penny to.”

“He didn’t. His family goes way back with the Waynes, though he got mixed up with some sort of illegal dealings when Bruce was out of Gotham and dragged the whole dynasty down. Lucius said his company was being considered for a merger for a while now. He’d hoped Bruce would say something to push it through. He didn’t, of course, but Lucius invited him for corporate diplomacy’s sake.” Tim shook his head. He’d inherited Bruce’s disdain for the bullshit, too, he guessed.

“He didn’t take it so well, did he?”

“No.” He rubbed at his neck. “I don’t know, but something about the guy bothers me more than just the usual sleaze. Can you see what you can dig up?”

“I’ll run a query on it tonight.” She moved to activate her Oracle set-up. “Headed out tonight?”

Tim lifted his duffel bag from his shoulder. “That’s the plan.”

“Good,” Jason said, not sounding very enthusiastic. He eradicated the last of the sandwiches. “Oracle’s found something about that drop we found last night.”

“Well, between me and the GCPD, anyway,” Barb said. She activated the screens.

Tim had seen it a million times, but Jason seemed to find the transition fascinating. “Wayne Tech, but not off the shelf,” he commented, impressed, as Barb started her query on Powers and opened a few files up.

“How much ‘off the shelf’ tech have we ever used?” Barb asked, “Alright, here we are. I couldn’t find much from the Fuerza side yet, but I found one of Two-face’s front companies, Janus Deliveries, had been acting up. Buying property, trucks.” She threw a map on the screen. Four points were highlighted on the map, scattered in the more rough areas of the city. “I’d show you the routes I managed to trace—they like to run red lights and speed in front of traffic cameras—but there really aren’t any. It’s random.”

“Dead drops,” Tim said, coming up to look more closely, “And obvious as hell.”

“They think there’s nothing to be afraid of anymore,” Jason said, “I’ve been on the streets for months, and it doesn’t seem to matter much.”

“We do what we can,” Tim said grimly, “So there’s not much to trace, here.”

“The warehouses,” Barb said, “Though if they’re moving nerve gas…”

“What gets me is that the GCPD isn’t concerned.” Jason started prowling, plucking his mask from some dark corner. “Nerve gas…this damn city.”

“The GCPD has their hands full with active threats from normal scum, trust me.” She sighed. “I know we have to do something about this, just go in carefully.”

Tim laughed, dropping his bag. “Come on, Barb. It’s me, remember?”

She looked at him over her glasses. “Come on, Tim, it’s nerve gas, remember.”

 

* * *

 

“It’s too quiet,” Jason said over the comms.

Tim agreed. The former department store was one of dozens of derelict buildings left to rot after Scarecrow’s attack. The places had turned into haven for all sorts of criminals and squatters. But this one was silent, not even rats or mice rustling around.

“Someone cleared out fast,” Tim told him, “And well. This place is too clean for an abandoned building.”

“Check in the back,” Oracle called, “Looks like it used to be the pharmacist’s counter. There’s something strange in the blueprints. It’s shaped oddly.”

“On our way.”

They moved carefully down separate aisles toward the back. Nothing, nothing, nothing. He didn’t like it.

By the time Tim got to the counter, Red Hood was already looking it over. The faceless mask glanced at him. This had to be the only man in the world who could express disdain without a face.

“Looks like there’s a basement?” Barb said, “The blueprints are fuzzy. It seems like part of an older building was incorporated here.”

“No trap doors on scans,” Jason said.

Tim looked around. Most of the floor was linoleum, like the rest of the store, except for one panel of it. That was metal. “How about this? Looks solid with the optics, though.”

“Always remember to use your eyes. They can’t be jammed,” Jason said, walking over. He slipped his fingers under the edge of the metal and starting hauling it up. Tim hurried to help out. He remembered what Jason had said the other night about damage.

Eventually the panel lifted on its own and locked in place. Tim peered down the stairwell they’d revealed. He switched on his visual mods. “That panel blocks everything,” he said, putting a hand on the other side of the panel. Normally he’d see the outline through something as thin as the metal panel, but not this time. It was opaque. “Reflective armor.”

Jason tried it himself. “I thought I’d kept that trick to myself,” he muttered, “Alright, Replacement Robin. Let’s go see what we can see.”

Tim followed him down, staying ten feet back. Experience had taught him not to group up.

The room below was sterile white, completely unadorned. If it had been part of an older building, it had been severely remodeled.

The heavy footsteps of armored boots echoed from around a corner. The two crime fighters darted to the bare pipes in the ceiling.

“The pay in this gig is terrible.”

“What, you want to work for some of those unprofessional scumbags instead?”

There was a pause. “That doesn’t mean the pay’s any better.”

“Whatever, man.”

The two men, clearly on patrol, walked casually below. Tim recognized the symbol on their armor.

The red diamond of the Arkham Knight. These were Militia. Tim gritted his teeth, remembering his only encounter with Jason’s old army. They’d dragged him out of a cage and beat the shit out of him. He hadn’t cared as much as he should have.

He’d thought Barbara was dead and Bruce was lost to the Joker disease. There hadn’t been a point to caring.

They let the pair pass. They seemed about as concerned as security guards at an elementary school.

“Looks like the Militia didn’t totally disband,” he called to Oracle, “They’re patrolling this place.”

“I hadn’t even heard rumors about that,” Barb said.

Tim smirked in spite of his memories. “Everyone slips up.”

“Not for long.” He knew she was digging deep into the depths of the internet now. Barb had a strong sense of professional pride.

“Let’s see what they’re guarding.” Tim dropped down, Jason following suit. They crept after the two men, halting when they did. The halls and rooms seemed featureless. There wasn’t a table or chair in sight.

The conversation, on the other hand, was enlightening.

“I hate twelve-hour shifts.” One of these guys was clearly a whiner.

“You’re just spoiled,” the tougher one said, “Like I said, think about the alternative. We could be working for some of those freaks. They’re as likely to shoot you as pay you.”

“Yeah, I guess.” The one guy turned in their direction, but it didn’t seem to be in reaction to anything. There wasn’t a lot of cover here, and both men were armed. “Johns saw Two-Face shoot one of his own men based on a coin flip last night. Did you hear about that?”

The tough one shook his head. “Crazy ass city. I’m out of here once I get enough money.” They moved in silence for a little while. What Tim needed them to do was go back towards wherever they came from. “They cleaned this place out pretty well. That neutron trick, you think? Turns organic matter into dust, or so the big guy said.”

What the hell? Who had that sort of tech, and was that the sort of thing moving across Gotham?

“Probably. They did it for all the others. You have to hand it to Fuerza. They don’t leave loose ends for drama’s sake.”

“No kidding. If Scarecrow had been like that, I wouldn’t be stuck pulling security for an arms dealer. We were paid well for those Halloween ops. Mai Tais in Hawaii…”

The patrol came to a sealed door. One punched a code into the panel and they strode through without a care. Like the trap door above, this door had come across as a blank wall. Tim and Jason hurried behind the two men and down yet another set of stairs.

Right into a militia tank depot.

Tim opted for _up_ as soon as possible. He saw Jason vault to another perch. “Oracle, it looks like we’re in the old tunnels.”

“You are,” she said, “Guess they weren’t cleaned out as well as we thought.”

Tim watched. Most of the tanks were unattended. There weren’t that many soldiers around. Most, it seemed, were escorting some open backed trucks. Some carried crates, others held pallets of the nerve gas canisters. Tim tagged one on his sensors and followed it as it trundled down the tunnel.

As he stopped at one ledge, Jason hit the ground next to him. “Do you know that I always knew when Batman had gotten into my depots?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

“Sensors, up high. I know how he did things.”

Tim stopped looking for another ledge. “It was standard operating procedure, wasn’t it?”

A shot blasted away a piece of the wall over Tim’s shoulder. He leapt half-blind into the air, landing in the midst of a bunch of militia.

Jason hit the ground less well, not being able to glide. He rolled to his feet and fired once. The sniper didn’t take another shot.

Tim flicked his staff out, ready to activate his bullet shield. Not a single soldier moved forward, just watched, weapons ready, grinning.

“I don’t like admitting this,” Jason said conversationally, “but I may have made a mistake with the Militia.”

There was a roar, human enough to be horrific. Tim recognized it. He turned away from the soldiers towards the sound, in time enough to catch the huge, bone-spiked monstrosity come stomping from behind a tank, slavering.

_Titan._


	4. Chapter 4

Tim hated these things.

He threw himself aside as the monster charged, swiping with its twisted claws.

He’d faced down plenty of creeps, a lot of them unnatural, but Titan mutants were the only ones that he found repulsive down to his very core like this. The idea of what could make their bones turn into spurs like that…

He tried to take the high ground on one of the ledges above, but that started the soldiers shooting at him. They’d drawn back.

“So this was what the Joker made?” Jason asked, twisting away from another charge, “Ugly.”

The monster paused, looking between the two of them. Jason tried to fire on it, but got a hail of bullets for his trouble. He holstered his pistols. “Alright, then, we’ll do this sneaky.”

“We’re standing in the open,” Tim told him.

The grin was in Jason’s voice. “Think creatively.”

The monster seemed to make up its mind and charged Tim. Tim dodged, and caught it in the midsection with his staff as it passed. It kept going, but doubled over. He’d winded it.

Jason ran past. “Let me get in its face.”

Tim shrugged. “Your funeral.” He headed to the monster’s other flank.

The presence of two enemies confused it again. Not one of those drugs that helped the brain much, Titan. Tim feinted for its stomach again. It made to snatch his staff, but he whirled and climbed onto its back, using his staff to press its thick neck to his chest.

Not much of a submission hold on a monster, but it was enough for him to steer it in front of Jason.

Red Hood cocked his head as the monster tried to claw Tim off. “Might want to move,” he called.

Tim took the cue and dropped, using the Titan mutant’s bulk to flip away.

BANG!

The monster dropped at Jason’s feet, its head a mess of bloody gore.

Tim turned to the circle of soldiers, tucked behind his bullet shield. He felt Jason take position at his back.

Six guns, all fully automatic by the look of them. He’d dealt with worse. Not for a long time, though.

The lights went out. “Run!” Oracle shouted in their ears.

Tim took the hint and bolted for higher ground. He turned his optics on as soon as he found solid purchase.

“Thanks, Oracle,” he said.

“It’s not for long. I’ve marked an exit for you. Get out of there.”

Jason, across the way, turned suddenly away from the marker. “No, wait. They’re still using the old radio channels.”

“So they are. Lazy. Come on, guys, get going!”

“We’ll lose the signal if we leave now.”

He had a point. The tons of dirt, metal, and concrete would stop any radio signals in their tracks. If they wanted to listen in, they had to stay down here.

Tim tapped into the Milita channels and began angling for the exit. “Let’s multitask, Hood.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

They hovered at the grate as they listened in. “I don’t know, boss,” a guy was saying, “A lot of the guys won’t do it.”

“I don’t care. It’s going to be done!”

There was a long, long pause. “If you paid more, maybe then…”

“Do this, find Wayne’s cache, and I promise you’ll see a payday like you’ve never seen before.”

“Yes, sir. But, I mean…they’re _nuns_.”

“I just need that information,” the boss said, “I need Bruce Wayne’s weapons cache, do you hear me?”

“Yes, sir. We’ll, uh, we’ll get it tomorrow, as directed.”

“Good.”

The transmission cut out, and the lights cut in. Time to go.

* * *

“So they’re going to hit the Little Sisters of Mercy,” Barb said, pulling schematics up faster than Tim could get a look at them. She wanted every building associated with the Sisters. “Tomorrow. But we don’t know when exactly or where.”

“It’ll be Sister Joan, since the whole thing has to do with Bruce, for some reason,” Tim said from her shoulder.

Jason was pacing the half circle of the unlit part of the room. “’Weapons cache.’ Bruce didn’t have a weapons cache, sure as hell not some secret hidden one,” he said, “I guess he could mean the Batcave.”

Barb paused in her frantic preparations. It was possible, but… “The only reason you knew about that was because you were Robin.”

“Bruce covered his tracks well, but there were signs of what he did, if you went looking.”

Barb tapped the sides of her keyboard absently. “There are, aren’t there? I mean, Tim figured it out.”

Her boyfriend crossed his arms. His offended expression would have been cute if they weren’t trying to figure out how to save lives. “Hey, genius, remember.”

Jason gave half a laugh. “Whatever, replacement. No, simple things that you could piece together. I’ve run into people who had picked up something weird with Bruce Wayne.”

“You shot them all, didn’t you?” Tim asked.

“I prefer the word dissuaded.”

“If you two are going to argue, go do it in the kitchen. I need to come up with a plan before the night’s out.” An idea hit her. “Accounting. All the expensive R and D projects that end up as official dead ends, with no administrative consequences. Someone could conclude…damn it, this isn’t going to help our current problem.” One of her queries dinged for completion. “Shut up. Okay, so we know they want something of Bruce’s, and they think the nuns have access to it, which means Sister Joan, since she was the contact for everything in the will.”

“Right,” Tim said, “Find us where she lives. We’ll stake it out until they hit.”

“Too easy. St. Theresa’s Convent, by the Cathedral.”

“Don’t bother with the schematics,” Jason said, fitting his mask back on, “Let’s end this before they even get inside.”

* * *

Naturally, it was raining while they waited. Not hard, just enough to be annoying. Tim and Jason were each huddled in separate alcoves, so that they had eyes on all approaches to the convent.

“The Titan drug,” Jason said, over the comms channel, “That’s what killed the Joker, right? Details were sketchy.”

“Pretty much,” Tim answered “It reacted badly with the toxins in his system.”

“You weren’t there, were you? When he died?”

“No. I pried some details out of Bruce.” Painfully. But Bruce had needed to talk—about Talia, in Tim’s opinion, more than the Joker, but he’d barely mentioned her. “It was ugly.”

“Painful?”

“I got that impression.”

“Good.”

Tim thought about it. He thought about the video he’d seen of the beaten Jason, and the story about the oil baron Barb had found. He even thought about Harley Quinn, who’d been a victim as much as any of the rest. “Yeah.”

“Look here,” Jason said, “Sister Joan is headed out.”

It was, what, five in the morning? She was a tough lady. Gotham must take a full day of good deeds for it to make any impact. “We better—“

He never finished the sentence. A van came careening down the quiet morning road, marked with the Milita’s symbol. The Sister paused in her hobble down the stairs.

“A van,” Jason growled, “How the mighty have fallen. I’ll hit ‘em.”

Tim saw him drop, wingless, and shoot his grappling hook at the van. He landed atop the roof, pulling out one of his pistols. He shot the driver through the roof and leapt clear.

The van went careening across the road, only stopping when it crashed. The back door flew open and a single armed man stumbled out. He shook his head and locked onto the nun.

One guy? One guy! The commander hadn’t been kidding when he said his men didn’t want to do it.

Tim leapt so he was on the ledge directly above Sister Joan. “Alright, ma’am,” the soldier said. It sounded like the voice on the radio last night. Guess the commander hadn’t found any volunteers. “You’re coming with me.”

“No, I am not,” the nun informed him, “I have accounts to get in order, young man, so that we can continue God’s work.”

The soldier hesitated, then snatched her arm. “I’m sorry, but you are coming with me.”

She struggled. “I’ll have you know the Order does not pay ransoms!” She began beating him with her cane.

Tim dropped down in swift glide, slamming into the soldier and knocking him away from Sister Joan.

The nun drew herself up, resting on her cane. “God watches over the faithful. Thank you, young man. Men,” she corrected, nodding at Jason as he walked up.

“You certainly trust a lot to providence, Sister,” Jason said.

“He’s the only thing to trust in, when you come down to it.” She nodded at the soldier. Tim had knocked him out cold. “I recognize the symbol from that awful Halloween. What do they want?”

“The information Lucius Fox sent you about the property Bruce Wayne left you,” Tim said, giving her his guess.

She frowned. “What on earth could they want with that?”

“He was a rich man, with secrets. Oracle, can you call the cops to clean this up?”

“Already on their way.”

“Make sure they get the one in the van, too,” Jason said.

Tim looked to him, eyes narrowing. He hadn’t killed the guy?

“They followed me,” Jason told him, “Everyone has lines they won’t cross.”

Sirens sounded, with the police cars soon to follow. The Sister smiled at them and waved them away. “Be off with you. There’s some shadow that needs brightened, and your method works in different places than mine.”

They sped off to the rooftops.

Tim’s comms beeped. He hit his gauntlet.

“Hey, Tim, it’s Dick. Lucius wants to see us at the ruins of the Manor at ten. He said you weren’t answering your phone, so I’d figure I try the Bat-comm.”

“You headed down?”

“Yeah, on the road right now.”

“Tell him he’s going to get himself killed on that bike,” Jason said.

“Hah, so you’re out with Red Hood? You guys pull an all-nighter?”

“Yeah.” Tim rubbed his eyes. “Some weird stuff is going on.”

“It always is. What’s it this time? Bank robbery outbreak? Plot to turn everybody into frog mutants?”

Blüdhaven could obviously be a strange place. Or maybe that was just Dick’s head. “No. The Militia tried to kidnap a nun to find Bruce’s ‘weapons cache’.”

“That’s a new one. I’ll meet you at the Manor. Fill me in on the details then. Nightwing out.”

Tim sighed. He turned to Jason, only to find he’d already left.

Interesting to have someone pull that trick on him for once.


	5. Chapter 5

“So a secret weapons cache?”

“Yeah.” Tim picked up a rock, turning in it over in his hands. It used to be part of the Manor.

Dick leaned against his motorcycle, every inch the stylishly roughened trust fund kid, looking down the hill at the road that had once led to Wayne Manor. “Well, that’s a sound conclusion to come based on the accounts, for a certain kind of person.”

“A kind of person who tries to kidnap nuns.”

“Well, I said a certain kind. There’s Lucius. I didn’t know he’d gotten a Beamer.”

Tim sat the rock down gently and waited for Lucius to pull up and get out. The man wore an impeccable suit, as always. “I hadn’t been up here since it happened.”

“Everything’s gone,” Tim told him, “Just the bones of the outer foundation left.”

“Not even the Cave?”

“Nothing.”

Lucius sighed. “I’m sorry. I know it was home to you boys.”

Dick shrugged. “Home’s not the right word. I don’t know, I always thought we’d die fighting atop the walls or something like that, honestly. It was that kind of place.” He laughed quietly. “That sounds so stupid now.”

“No,” Tim told him, “I get what you mean.” 

“I wish I did. Or perhaps not, now I think about it,” Lucius said, “I wanted to get a look at the place before I gave you any advice on how to handle things.”

Dick threw out an arm. “Well, here it is. Lots of land. It extends out, what, one hundred acres from the front gate?” 

“Yes. Nothing much on it, is there?”

Tim shrugged. “If there is, I don’t think Bruce maintained it. The Manor was the center of everything.”

“Then putting it all in Mr. Drake’s name shouldn’t be an issue?”

Tim looked at Dick, who grinned. “Blüdhaven’s home for me now. I’m good with it being your problem, Timmy boy.”

Tim glared at him. That was the nickname he’d used when Tim was just the smart kid who kept pestering Bruce. He’d never liked it, which Dick knew.

“I’ll make sure to push things in that direction, then.”

“Sounds good.” Tim crossed his arms and looked out on the hills. “I don’t know what to do with it, that’s the thing.”

“You could turn it into a wildlife preserve. Much of it is forest.”

“A Bat-amusement park,” Dick threw out. Both Tim and Lucius shot him icy stares. “I’m kidding. I don’t have any ideas either.”

Tim rubbed a hand across his face. “Maybe Barb will.”

Another car came rushing up the hill, echoing loudly in the silence here beyond the outskirts of the city. They turned to see the sleek black Rolls Royce come rushing towards them.

Both Tim and Dick assumed defensive stances. Something about this wasn’t right.

The car halted not too far from where they’d all parked. A chauffeur hurried out and opened the back door.

Derek Powers stepped out, tall and impeccable in a brown suit.

“Ah, Mr. Fox,” he said, “Your secretary said you’d headed out this way. Mr. Drake, Mr. Grayson. Or is it Wayne? I don’t remember if he gave you his last name when he adopted you.”

“No,” Dick said coldly. It had been an option, they knew, but it hadn’t felt necessary. They’d had lives before Bruce. And after, now.

“Ah.” Powers surveyed the area with his hands behind his back. There was a calculating look to him. “How close were you to Mr. Wayne?”

“You’re asking if we knew,” Tim said.

“Yes, I suppose I am.”

Tim turned to the Manor’s ruins. “No. He wasn’t a very forthcoming person.”

“Believe me, I know that. He never told me his opinion of merging Powers Tech with Wayne Enterprises. It would have made it easier if he had.” 

Bruce wouldn’t have let Powers within a mile of his company. Tim just nodded mutely and hoped the man would leave.

“He didn’t tell either of you any of his secrets, did he?” Powers shook his head. “I’m sorry. It’s clear he had great affection for you, but clearly the man’s own issues meant he kept some deep dark secrets from his own heirs. What a shame.”

He was _digging_. Tim could hear it behind the false sympathy.

Dick, however, didn’t. “Shut up!” he snapped, lunging forward a step. His blue eyes seemed to burn. “You didn’t know him, you creep, so just shut up! You want to treat him like another part of Gotham’s freak show? Go take a look at all the good he did for this damn city!” He looked ready to take a swing at Powers, but managed to turn away and go lean on his bike.

Powers stared at him without much of an expression for a moment, before assuming one of pity and understanding. Tim shifted uneasily. It was a lot easier when the psychopaths just could be punched out and hauled to jail. “Still grieving, I understand. It must have been a lot to take in. It must still be.” He turned to Tim and pulled out a business card. “Mr. Drake, please, let me know if I can help. Legacies can be hard to bear when you know the true scope of them. ”

Tim took it, nodding. “Right. Thanks.”

Powers offered a tight smile and patted him on the shoulder. “Mr. Fox, I came to let you know I’ll be late for the meeting this afternoon. I have some problems that need personal oversight.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “You couldn’t have called?”

“I tried, but I’m not sure you have any reception out here.”

“Indeed. I’ll be sure to inform the other members of the board, then. Have a good day, Mr. Powers.”

“You as well.” Powers walked back to his car. The chauffeur, moving with the urgency of fear, opened his door and blazed his way back towards the city. “I really don’t like that man.”

“I don’t think anyone does.” Tim looked at Dick, who was still leaning against his bike, shoulders tense. “ _Do_ you have any signal up here?”

Lucius pulled out his phone and fiddled with it for a moment. “Four bars, clear as day.” He tusked it back away. “You know what, I didn’t tell my secretary I was headed here. I told her to take an early lunch, actually.”

“Right.” He headed for the Beamer. He couldn’t spot anything off about the outside of it, but…“Do you mind if I take a look at the engine, Mr. Fox?”

Lucius frowned. “Go ahead.” 

Tim popped the hood. Dick managed to shake off his mood and come have a look, as well. “Hey, what’s that?” He plucked a shiny silver circle off the inside of the hood, flipping it over a few times in his finger. “Tracking device.”

Tim took it from him. “Looks almost like one of Bruce’s. Bigger, though. More heat resistant, too, if it could take being stashed inside the engine compartment.”

“More secure than sticking it on the undercarriage.”

“So Powers was tracking me,” Lucius said. He held out a hand and Tim handed him the tracker. “Uncomplicated, though the alloy is strange.” He handed it back. Tim marked the weight of it and gave it another good look, trying to dedicate the details to memory. He twisted it in the sunlight just so, highlighting a familiar symbol.

The Arkham symbol of the Militia, barely visible.

He flipped it over once more before sticking it back where it had been.

“You’re just going to leave it there?” Dick asked.

“If your tracking device started to behave weird, wouldn’t you be suspicious?”

“Er, not really, no.”

Tim sighed. “Well, I’m pretty sure Powers would be. And I don’t know how to disable the thing. I’d rather not have the clock tower get crashed again.” He shut the hood. “It’s Militia gear, too.”

Dick stared at the spot where Tim had left the tracker. “Shit.”

“Yeah.” Tim shoved his hands in his pockets and sighed. “Shit.”

“Agreed,” Lucius said, “I better go make sure the board votes against the merger then.”

“You weren’t sure before? Powers is a creep.”

“I’d hoped Powers Tech would help stabilize things, regardless of their CEO’s personality. New blood after the blow of losing Mr. Wayne after the Halloween events. But if he’s willing to put a tracker on my car—“ Lucius looked as angry as Tim had ever seen him. It took a _lot_ to break Lucius’ calm. “—then that’s a sign of how far the man will go. Throw the Militia in the mix…I will not have Bruce Wayne’s legacy tarnished while I can do anything about it.”

Dick laid a hand on Lucius shoulder, a hearty slap of thanks. “Right there with ya. Tim, I’m going to stick around.”

“No, I’ve got this. I know Penguin’s been acting up in Blüdhaven.”

“Been there, done that. I can multitask.

“ _Harley_ beat your ass, Nightwing.”

“Bad night.”

“Go home. I’ve got an idea, and you’d just get in the way.”

Dick gave a wry smirk. “Damn. Now I know how he felt.”

“How he felt?”

The older man laughed and headed to his bike. “When Robin grew up.”

As Dick roared away, popping a wheelie to show off, Lucius asked, “What have you got in mind, if I may be so bold?”

“You see if you can keep Powers’ hands off the company,” Tim said, digging his car keys out of his pockets, “Me and one of the local lunatics are going to see if we can run him out of town.”


	6. Chapter 6

“I’m flattered, really, that you asked for my help, little bird, but I don’t need yours.”

Barb really had thought these two were making progress, but apparently not today. She shook her head and went back to tweaking Jason’s helmet. Rigging gadgets had never been her thing, but needs must. She glanced longingly over at her abandoned lunch.

“Shooting him won’t help,” Tim said, not turning from the layout of the city on the screen. He took another swig of his energy drink.

“Convince me.”

Well, maybe they were making a _kind_ of progress.

Tim sighed. “Barb?”

She nodded and didn’t look up from the helmet. “When we were trying to keep Sister Joan safe, one of my contacts got back to me with more info about Powers. His son is slotted to inherit everything – and he’s a worse person, by all accounts. Sexual assault, running with drug kingpins, human trafficking…he’s been linked to it all.”

Jason shrugged. “Shoot the dad, bring the son right into my sights. Problem solved.”

“He’s been linked to it all and _he hasn’t been arrested for any of it_. He’s not stupid, Jason. Neither is Powers.” She sat back, finished with her modifications. What a pain. Bruce must have had the patience of a saint to do that sort of thing.

He scowled. “What do you have in mind?”

“He’s got some problems to fix this afternoon, he said,” Tim said, “Linked to our interference this morning, I think. He’s pretty convinced Dick and I don’t know anything. If that was him on the radio last night— and I bet it was—he’s got a short fuse. We need to get footage of him ‘handling’ the problem and upload it to the web.”

“Very millennial of you. You can’t do this on you own?”

“Tim’s mask is a lot harder to jury-rig to send me audio and video than this,” Barb said, holding up Jason’s helmet, “It’s all set, by the way.”

He snatched it from her with half-hearted violence and peered inside. “Should have known what ‘optimization’ would mean with you,” he grumbled.

“I did some tweaks to the other optics, too.” What she could manage, anyway. She needed to get some mentoring from Lucius.

How were they supposed to do all this by themselves? They weren’t fools, but it had been Bruce, the invincible genius, who had been their foundation. He’d bound everything together.

She put the thought away. “I also think,” she added, knowing this would piss Tim off, “that having Red Hood show up and cause havoc would be helpful.”

The look on Jason’s face was like a puppy’s realization it would get a treat for taking a bath. Tim, predictably, was not impressed.

Where the Red Hood ran loose, there were dead bodies. But not this morning, at the convent.

Jason still had lines he wouldn’t cross.

“And Boy Wonder along for the ride?” he asked, slipping on the helmet.

“It won’t be easy. I’ve been tracking Powers movements.” She smirked. “The man has a coffee addiction he buys with a credit card, and he’s nearly always on his phone. He’s moving towards the vicinity of that stronghold you found in the tunnel system last night. Neither of you should try to go there alone.”

“And people say I’m scary. Alright, Barbara, let’s see how this works. Looks like the link is already established.”

Barb nodded to Tim, who obediently pulled up the program. She looked between Jason and the crystal clear image of herself. “Looks good,” she said, her voice duplicated over the speakers, “Sounds good, too. The signal should be clear underground too; it piggybacks off of…” They both glared at her, Jason managing the expressionless expression in a very Bruce-like way. “It should be good. Even if it isn’t, the helmet will still capture everything.”

“Right,” Tim said, slipping on her mask. He left the computer and walked up to Jason. She blinked at the weirdness of the direct comparison. They were of a height—so was Dick, now she thought of it—but Jason was heavier with muscle and armor, and held his shoulders differently. “Let’s do this.”

Jason nodded and took the lead, grappling up through the rooftop entrance first. Tim kissed Barb’s cheek and then followed him out into the sunlight.

She cracked her knuckles and took her place at her console, watching through Jason’s eyes. Almost, but not quite, like being on patrol again.

“So, daylight,” Jason said, turning to Tim, “This is going to be new.”

“For you, maybe.” Tim shot forward, dropping into a glide and using his grappling gun to pull himself forward. Jason muttered a few curses and then followed at a lower altitude, more parkour runner than superhero.

Barb sat back and watched, though she kept an eye on her updates as to Powers’ location. The boys leapt across the skyline, keeping to shadows, not as bold as they would be at night. She’d never been out much during the day, though she knew Batman and Robin had kept daylight hours from time to time, when they had to. The city had a different feel to it, older and younger at once. She hadn’t realized it before, and maybe it was just seeing through Jason’s eyes, but night locked Gotham in timelessness.

They arrived at the tunnels in half an hour. Barb frowned as Jason dropped down one of the access tunnels. It seemed alien in the day.

Jason stepped over a bundle of rags Barb realized was a person. “We’re not too close,” he said, “Or else they’ve gotten lazy, letting bums set up nearby.”

She glanced at her readout. Powers had dropped off the map after hitting up a coffee shop near the Bleake Island. It was the longest he’d gone without a phone call—he’d gone under, she was pretty sure. “Get closer to their base,” she said, “I’ll be able to listen in on their radio traffic. If there’s any talk about their boss, that’s where we’ll want to be.”

Jason turned to see Tim approach from another tunnel. “Shouldn’t be far from here,” he said.

“And how do you know?” Jason said, following his lead anyway.

“It’s not my first time down here. I also remember where we came out last time. We’re not far.”

Jason looked back at the sleeping bum. Barb found the movement disorienting in a closed space. “So they have gotten lazy,” he sneered.

“I’d appreciate it, if I were you, since you’re on the other side now.”

“It’s a matter of principle.” They moved quickly through the tunnels, often having to maneuver around pitfalls and obstacles. Barb had to shove the window to one side so she didn’t get sick.

Besides, she had other irons in this fire to handle.

She smiled at one of her emails. “Lucius is saying he thinks he’s convinced the board not to vote for the merger,” she told the guys.

“Never think anyone can outsmart the Fox,” Tim said.

Barb nodded, even though he couldn’t see her and read through the rest of the messages. It looked like she’d finally gotten into the Asylum’s systems. About time. She’d start keeping tabs on the patients again, those of them left, anyway. A debate was raging in the halls of government about what to do with Ivy’s monstrous plant, which still stood over Gotham, though less of a blight than people might think. Dick’s perpetual war on Penguin in Blüdhaven was progressing apace.

A search algorithm she’d been running for _days_ suddenly popped up with results. She pursed her lips as she read through its report. “Powers is pretty definitely our man,” she said over comms.

“What came up?”

“Fuerza basically belongs to Powers Tech. it’s funded and operated through a bunch of proxies, but it links back eventually.”

“That’s a pretty clear confirmation, then. Thanks, Oracle.”

She glanced back at the boys as she filed the report under the file she had for Powers. They had stopped to perch on a ledge, watching a tank roll by below. She patched them into the local radio net and expanded the window. The Militia hadn’t changed a thing. “Alright, let’s see if we can find Powers.”

“So where are taking this pile of junk?” one of the soldiers was asking over the tank radio.

“Down to central. The commander wants the boss to feel the ‘full effect’ of our arsenal.”

“Yeah, us and our one fully functional tank.”

“So we’ll follow the tank,” Tim said, “Could be harder.”

Jason held up a hand. “Easy.” He scanned the pipes and ledges. Barb hadn’t wired into his display, but it seemed like he was scanning for something. “You still have those snap-flash things?”

“Not as many as I did.”

“That and a shuriken.” He held out a hand. Tim handed the gadgets to him. Jason attached the snap-flash to the shuriken and threw it towards a light fixture. It stuck nicely. “Nice to see I haven’t lost my touch. Detonate it. It’ll disable the sensor net for the next hundred meters or so.”

Tim obeyed. No one below even blinked at the small fall of dust. “Nice trick.”

“That scattered strategy is its strength and its weakness. You won’t be able to pick up on them with sensors—unless you know what absence to look for. I realized that shuriken trick would work just now, really.”

“Right. You put a lot of thought into how to kill us.”

Jason shook his head as if to clear it. “You’d have just been collateral. Let’s catch that tank.”

Tim hesitated after Jason swung away. “Am I allowed to find that disturbing?” he asked Barb on a private channel.

She had the bizarre sensation of moving with Jason while speaking privately to Tim. “If it helps, I think it was kind of a joke.”

“It doesn’t help.” He reappeared in Jason’s view.

“Just try to—“ The feed cut out. She slammed a hand on her armrest. “I hope you guys can still hear me.”

Tim’s answer was tinny and full of static. “Not well.”

She hoped that camera worked. She couldn’t shake the feeling that nothing good would come of Powers’ presence in Gotham.

* * *

“So that’s Powers,” Jason whispered as they crouched in a corner above what looked the Militia’s central command room, “Looks like a real slimeball.”

“Just wait til you hear him talk.”

Which he started doing, pacing the room with his hands behind his back.

“So you failed to get the information from the good sister,” he said coldly.

“Sir…”

“And your commander is now in the hands of the GCPD. Do you know how unhappy I would be if my name was in anyway connected to the Militia?”

“He won’t talk, sir. Not with anything _they’ll_ do.”

“No, he won’t.” Powers pulled a plastic bag from his coat. “Make sure that gets into his next meal. My R and D has assured me the effects aren’t curable.”

The lead soldier came forward and carefully took the bag. “Yes, sir.”

“Now, as for the other loose end.” Jason leaned forward. Tim really hoped the helmet recorder worked as well as Barb said. “I need what the nun knows. I don’t care of Batman himself rises from the grave to defend her, you will bring her to me.”

“Sir,” another soldier said, “Some of the men would like to know what you’ll do to her.”

“Do they now? What do you think?” Silence. “I want everything she knows about Wayne’s properties, do you understand? I refuse to believe he would just throw everything away to something so silly as an order of nuns. So whatever it takes to squeeze that knowledge from her, you’ll do it.”

There was rumble from the seven men below. “No, sir,” the one who’d asked said, “I won’t.” He headed for the door.

Powers reached under his jacket and pulled out a sleek pistol. He fired once, a beam of light lancing out to strike the soldier square in the back—burning a hotel clean through his chest. The corpse dropped without a groan. The scent of burning flesh filled the air. “Any other objections anyone thinks I should know?” Powers asked, still holding his _laser gun_ at the ready, “Any other lines you won’t cross?”

“I know you wanted me to make him run away scared,” Jason said, shifting, “But you know what? This guy is too dangerous to live.”

Tim couldn’t say anything, just stare at the body and the _laser_ and wonder how on earth they were going to keep this stuff out of the hands of Gotham’s supervillains.

Jason converted his pistols into a sniper rifle and took his first shot.

And, impossibly, the bullet dropped inches away from Power’s head.

He turned to look up at their hiding spot. “Well, well, if it isn’t a couple of the late Bruce Wayne’s interns, come out to play.” He level his laser and fired.

He wasn’t a fast or good shot, thank God. Tim and Jason split, grappling across the room.

Powers glanced at the soldiers. “Kill them.” The men backed towards the exit. “Kill them, or you all die like that one did.”

The men fanned out slowly. It wasn’t a big room, nor did it have many places to strike from. Tim would have landed and started in with his staff, but the damn laser discouraged that.

Tim settled into his tiny little alcove and switched on his optics. “Oracle, can you help us out at all?”

“What happened?”

“Powers gave his monologue, and then he pulled out a laser gun. Looks like he’s got some kind of personal force field that can stop bullets, too.” He paused. “I’m not making this up.”

“It’s not the weirdest thing you’ve ever said,” she told him offhandedly, “Damn it. Their systems here don’t seem to be connected to anything.”

“We’ll just have to do it the old fashioned way, then.”

“Yep,” Jason confirmed. Tim saw him, suddenly, a flash of red dropping off an overhanging light down on a Militia soldiers. Jason swept the man up and held him by his throat for a moment, dropping him so he dangled unconscious from the overhang. He grappled away. “So that’s how the old man did it.”

The laser blasted the spot where Jason had been a moment before. Powers raged and demanded below. Tim saw two of the soldiers manage to sneak out. He hoped they ran off and became productive law-abiding members of society.

Miracles happen, God knew. Look at who he was working with.

He turned his attention the other three and Powers. If they could take out Powers, the Militia would run. Not, Tim felt, out of fear of him or Jason—out of the desire for survival. The situation had gone south in almost every possible way for them.

Powers wasn’t stupid. He’d taken position in the center of the room, turning in circles to keep all the shadows in his sights, as well as his not-so-obedient lackeys.

There was a grate almost under his feet though. If he went that route, he’d have only one chance before being burnt to a crisp.

Tim took a deep breath. Business as usual, really. Laser gun, machine gun. The end result would be the same if he failed. “Can you get his attention?”

“I’d rather not.”

“There’s a duct system I can get into. Give me a chance to get down and into it.”

“And what, punch him out? He’s wearing a force field.”

“It can’t be totally inert,” Tim said, locating a loose vent below and zipping as close as he dared, “Otherwise he couldn’t walk, or touch anything. Physics can be bent, but not broken. Besides, what we really need to do is get that gun away from him. Then the force field won’t matter.”

“Except for stopping a bullet from going through his skull,” Jason said, “Alright, fine. I’ve got a flashbang grenade. Shut your eyes until you hear it go.”

Tim did, steeling himself for a jump.

BANG! Tim’s eyes snapped open to smoke and laser fire. He leapt down, slipping smoothly into the duct system.

“ _Fuck_ , I hope you’ve got a burn kit back there, Oracle,” Jason growled, “You in place, replacement?”

Tim started crawling through the small passage. He could hear Powers shouting above. “Getting there.”

The vent he’d seen from above was suddenly there, with Powers above it. Tim slowly twisted into a crouch.

“Go ahead and try me, brats!” Powers was shouting, “All you are is Batman’s shadows, powerless, an echo! You can’t do anything to the likes of me!”

Okay, enough of this. Tim leapt upward, knocking the laser out of Powers’ hands and sending him stumbling back with wide eyes. Tim made sure to get between him and the weapon. No scrambling for it.

Powers’ eyes narrowed. “So, you’re Robin.”

“Nice to see you’ve done your research.” He pulled his staff out.

“You think you can hurt me with a stick?” But he was still backing away.

“You’re weaponless, Powers,” Tim said, “You’re helpless, even if you can’t be touched.”

He snarled and said nothing for a moment. Tim approached carefully. He could see Jason had landed over Powers’ shoulder. He was limping, a burn on one thigh, but he definitely seemed capable of taking on their quarry.

Powers must have heard him, because he glanced backwards. He grasped inside his coat over and over again, desperate, but came up empty handed.

Then he paused, and reached for his belt buckle. He looked Tim right in the eye, grinning like a madman. “I’m not quite out of tricks yet.” He hit something on his belt.

The air around Powers sparked and hummed.

Powers lunged at Tim. He dodged, tripping the man with his staff. Red Hood charged, shoving the man forward and onto his belly.

Powers sprawled, still sparking.

“Overloaded it,” Jason said, “Run!”

They both grappled up to the pipe where they’d come in. Tim spared a glance for Powers.

The man had landed on his weapon from earlier, but he hadn’t picked it up. He just stared at it, as the force field grew more frantic.

And then Tim bolted out, angling hard for higher ground.

* * *

“Tim! Jason!” Barb shouted. Her readouts from Tim’s suit, his vitals, had vanished. There could be dozens of reasons.

Only the very worst ones sprang to mind.

“We’re…we’re okay,” came Tim’s panting voice over the comms. She released her grip on her chair’s arms. Her hands hurt. “Just a little shook up.” His vitals came back online. “Powers overloaded his force field. He must have brought half the tunnel system down on his head.”

Barb blinked. “So he’s dead.”

“I know we like to say ‘no one could have survived that’, which has yet to mean a damn thing,” Jason said, “But in this case, a normal human being couldn’t have survived that.”

“MIA, then,” Barb said with a bare laugh, willing herself to relax. She hated scares like this.

“That will probably work,” Tim answered. He sounded totally exhausted. By this point, he was pushing twenty-four hours without sleep.

“Get back here so I can get that video off of Red Hood’s helmet,” she said, “And we’ll make sure Powers Tech doesn’t rear its head in Gotham again.”


	7. Epilogue

This, Tim thought, was a very good beer.

Barb starting rubbing his back. He shut his eyes and took another drink.

“So,” she said, “your first really big adventure since you got off crutches.”

“Never been a fan of a crisis, have to say.” She started scratching along a shoulderblade, and God, _yes_.

“First time working with Jason, too.”

“Not that, not while you’re sitting in my bed.”

“Any conclusions to draw?”

After action review, huh? Well, it was a better way than Bruce Wayne’s Game of 20 Questions While Getting Stitches, Standing Up, at Four AM. “Powers was a new kind of trouble.”

“Oh, his name is mud after that video. It went viral in an hour. Powers Tech is going under as we speak.”

“His gadgets…”

“ _That’s_ going to be a problem.” She stopped scratching and just laid her hands on his back. He finished his beer and sighed. “Seriously, what did you think about Jason?”

“He’s a lunatic.”

“Tim.”

“If we’re going to really have this conversation, I need more beer.”

She handed him one from his nightstand.

He twisted the cap off and filled his end of the deal. “It didn’t suck.” He took a drink. He twisted to see Barb doing the same with hers. Well, then. “Can we trust him? Yeah. We don’t have a choice, but I think we really can, now. He’s not going to play by Bruce’s rules, but there’s lines he won’t cross. He’s not lost, Barb.” He shook his head. “The guy wouldn’t care if I dropped dead, might even buy tickets to see it happen, but him getting lost bothers me.”

“He would care.”

“So sure?”

“He took a shot for your plan. Not a bad hit, but it could have been. There’s a lot to be said for that.”

He sat his beer back on the nightstand and turned to face her. Her hair was falling wild around her face, shimmering copper in the dim lamplight. “I guess you’re right. He gets results, have to give him that.”

She smiled softly and stroked his jaw. “You need rest.”

He rested his head on her shoulder. “I think we’ve proven one thing.”

Her nails scraped pleasantly along his scalp. “Hmm?”

“We can do this. Not neatly, but if it comes to war on the streets, or in Arkham, or wherever, like it has, we can do that, if we have to.”

“I don’t want to have to, you know.”

He exhaled deeply. She shivered and he gave a half grin. Too tired to really enjoy it, may Derek Powers rot in hell. “I know. But we _can_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading Powers That Be! Like the rest of this series, it started small and grew into what you've just read. 
> 
> Derek Powers was pulled from Batman Beyond, though I didn't feel his radioactive Skeletor alter-ego fir into this story. If you thought it was obvious he was the bad guy, you know how the people who watched that series felt. I attempted to incorporate the series' concepts of combat with realism (i.e. Jason doesn't pistol whip people in combat, which I just can't) while keeping it interesting.
> 
> This was a delight to write and a great help with my current real life stresses. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!


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